


Ghosts In The Apartment

by Infiniteleft



Series: Comforts [1]
Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26594632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infiniteleft/pseuds/Infiniteleft
Summary: She can still hear his footsteps outside her door. She hates how she can't call it theirs -- but with nobody else living inside, everything's now just... Hers.
Relationships: Kaito/Meiko (Vocaloid)
Series: Comforts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934644
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Ghosts In The Apartment

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow I wrote an AU of an AU. For context, this ended up being an alternative setup for Home Comforts.
> 
> This is definitely what I get for writing a fluffy fic yesterday. I tried to write something sweet and romantic, and the next thing I know I'm tagging for major character death. Whoopsie. My fingers slipped.

A touch. A shiver. Under the blankets, she ran a hand over soft, uneven skin. His breath sounded in her ear, punctuating the gentle kiss along her jaw. One. Two. His breath caught as he pulled away. Cold. She was cold now that there was a void here.

Under the covers, her hand had nothing to grasp. The door clicked shut. She was alone.

* * *

The light felt heavy the way it broke in through her shut curtains. Her face wasn't cold, so long as she didn't turn her head. Patches of skin were adjusted to the chill. But she was used to having another warmth there. She reached out and something was missing.

There's an empty gap in her closet. It's her closet. Just hers.

* * *

She thought she was used to it. The days had passed without changing, without end. There was nobody here but her.

Only the buzzing of her fridge kept her company. She would've liked to turn it off, had the silence not been a worse friend. If she tried hard enough, she could hear footsteps. She could feel someone at her back. She could touch the cheek pressed to her own, the soft, wispy hair that had always hung in front of his eyes.

Her hand reached up. There was nobody here.

* * *

A car honks on the street below. It's 7 in the evening and the stars could be out. She hadn't opened the window in here in a while. Maybe she should.

But looking out on the street below was like reliving a nightmare. The traffic and that stupid, stupid taxi cab… The cat's curled up on the sofa. It hadn't come into her room since he's been gone.

The cat's the only living soul who goes into his office nowadays.

* * *

Rap-a-tap. There's knocking on her door. She doesn't open it, but they come in anyway. It's Luka with takeout. When was the last time she'd heard from her friend? A while. She forgets to charge her phone a lot. She tells Luka as much and her friend laughs, reflexively cracking that he's rubbed off on her.

Her friend's face falls faster than she'd ever seen it. The air never feels right anymore. Maybe she sees him too. Or the ghost of him, lying all around the apartment. The clothes she'd never picked up. The blanket over the arm of the chair. The books on the coffee table, the keys on the counter. His coat's still hanging up on the rack.

The only thing she'd managed to put away were the scarves. Somehow, those were the worst reminders.

* * *

Luka's begging her to leave. Gakupo's taken her side -- it figures. She closes her eyes and thinks. She can't stay here with all of this, but she can't bring herself to get rid of anything… to throw it away to to tarnish what's left. She knows she'll never pick up any of the books he's read.

Her eyes open, and she asks them for help.

* * *

It takes them an afternoon to swap the bedroom and office around. Everything's different, and they move most of his stuff into the closet. She won't let them throw anything away, but a lot of things get put aside for Miku to come pick up later.

His sister would appreciate most of it more than she could.

* * *

She doesn't erase what's left of him. The pictures still hang on the walls, and slowly, she finds she's able to look at birthday cards without breaking down. The signature missing will always bother her, but it's bearable.

Occasionally, she fingers the notebooks she kept. The covers on most of them are falling apart, but one of them has maintained its sheen. It's only half full. She opens it open and runs a hand across the pages.

She ends up setting it on the piano that night and playing what was written inside.

* * *

Life goes on. She remembers what his voice sounded like, his laughter and tears, how sarcasm rarely colored his voice but when it did, it would stain it a low, rumbling hue.

She opens his notebooks. Some of them, she doesn't touch -- he'd never shown them to her before and she'd never look at them now. But sometimes, she remembers afternoons where they'd sit under the maple trees on campus, when life had barely gone on for them, when they'd sit there and talk. They'd write together.

Years had passed since then. They didn't write much together after that, but sometimes, she would hear snippets of songs he would never show anyone else.

She remembers his voice. How raw it would get through the door. He'd never let her see what it was he was working on. What it was he wanted to get out.

It was too late to read the words he'd written down now.

* * *

He lives on through the melody she puts on paper. The ghost here settles comfortably under her skin and she revels in his touch. Maybe she'd love again. Maybe she wouldn't. But she feels the adoration he'd given her, again and again, and realizes that he would want her to live on, in the way he'd never be able to.

* * *

Soon enough, she stops seeing his body in her dreams. The first night it happens, when it's been more than a month than the last time she'd seen --

She spends the night awake in her new bedroom, trying desperately to forget how she'd heard his breath stop under her ear. 

* * *

Eventually, she can tolerate vanilla cupcakes again. She doesn't know if she has it in her to retake ice cream. She doesn't know if she wants to.

Red velvet takes longer, but she tries. For him. She knows he'd be cheering her on.

* * *

At some point, she realizes she needs to heal for herself, too.

* * *

She finds Kiyoteru first thing that morning. He seems surprised to see her again, and was it any wonder why? She hadn't thought she could ever play her bass again. But it was calling her now. She tells him as much and she pretends to ignore the grief in his smile.

He missed him as much as she did.

But maybe they could get back together with Luka, with Iroha and Lily, and miss their friend together.

* * *

The first time she stands on a stage since her husband died feels wrong. She's out of practice and everything sounds far too loud. The lights streak across her eyes, rainbow lines breaking out everywhere.

She might be crying, but nobody can tell. She's too far away for them to see.

* * *

Meiko realizes something else when they go out to eat that evening. There were so many signs to read. By chance or fate, or by Kaito's omnipresent meddling, the dots clicked into place.

Shutting herself off, away, and inside? It didn't help. When was the last time Luka's seen her laugh? Even worse, she can't remember the last time she's called Miku. There always was more voicemails to go through whenever she plugged her phone in.

She realizes that she'd left her to grieve alone, and with the fear that she'd lose her big sister, too.

Her friends notice when it hits her, because of course they do. They don't always know what's going on with her, but they notice things she doesn't even realize she's telegraphing.

She grieves in circles as she goes to bed that night.

* * *

It takes her a week to call Miku, but eventually she does.

* * *

Seeing Miku was harder than hearing her was. She can see the rich blue irises that had to have come from their father. They look almost identical to her brother's. It's weird -- she can look at pictures just fine, but the living sheen in Miku's blue eyes was something she didn't know how to deal with.

Miku noticed. It doesn't surprise her like it ought to. The girl just gives her a sad smile and a hug, and tells her she can't deal with that sometimes too.

One step at a time. They'd take it one step at a time.

* * *

They end up watching bad movies until it's midnight.

Miku's grabbed some ice cream, and Meiko finds she actually wants some for the first time in a year.

* * *

The anniversaries aren't as hard as she thought they'd be.

She actually doesn't remember what day he'd died off the top of her head. It's a concern and a relief. At least she doesn't have to agonize over that.

* * *

October. He'd died in October.

* * *

So much for Halloween that year. Miku drags her out of the house anyway. She sees all of her friends that night because of course they'd all conspired to have a weird party at Gakupo's house.

It's been a long time since she'd seen Flower and Daina. She didn't speak to them at the funeral, and they'd never called. That… as bad as it made her feel to think about, she was kind of glad about that.

They'd always been her husband's friends rather than hers.

* * *

She makes it another year. No drinking to excess, which surprises her to realize that, too. Was it taunting or ironic to toast a dead alcoholic? Honestly, it was the kind of joke Meiko knew he'd enjoy. He was the one keeping her sober nowadays, after all.

* * *

There's a warmth at her side, and it's a cold winter morning in February. Her chest is heavy as she sighs sleep away.

She opens her eyes and finds Hime, her cat, sleeping on her stomach. Pat pat. There's a faint jingling as Hime startles, but a black paw reaches out in time with a contented murrble.

"Good morning, Hime," she whispers. "Isn't this a good morning?"


End file.
